The pair of Emmaline’s who guard clashed the hafts of their halberds on the ground and suddenly the dungeon was gone. They were standing instead in an Ecclesiarchy court, flanked on three sides by imposing stained glass windows that stretched fifty feet into the air. One of the windows showed an Emmaline dressed in the Adeptus Sororitas battle armor that had been my (our?) disguise the previous year, bolter raised heroiically. Another showed a naked Emmaline emerging from the ocean off Agesilea, in the style of some ancient painting I had once glimpsed. The central window held a depiction of the Emperor in the style of the Great Crusade though the details around his face flickered as though the artist were leafing through several rough sketches.


A central dias held a stone judges throne, on which sat Emmaline-who-judges, a rather overly sexualized Ecclesiarchy robe wrapped around her body as she gazed on the rest of the scene with ill disguised contempt. The prisoner sat in a witness box his eyes wide and staring, his mind under considerable psychic strain. Behind a stone balustrade carved with straining gargoyles and cherubs scores of Emmalines sat, forming a jury or a simply witnessing proceedings. 


“Did you learn this from the tome… the…” Hadrian began.


“Splitting into different aspects? Emmaline-who-explains-things finished, then shook her head.


“Emmaline-who-over-analyzes thinks it is due to leading a life of deception prior to coming into your service, a habitual donning of masks and fake personas.”


“Orr it could be a result of childhood trauma, or a way to defend myself against early psychic awakenings or…” Emmaline-who-explains things waved her hand to quiet a rather overwhelmed looking Emmaline who was making a diagram on the wall with various notations connected by pieces of crimson twine.


“So who is the Emmaline I see in the real world?” Hadrian asked. Every single one of the hundred or so visible Emmalines turned towards him and in perfect unison replied: “I am.” Hadrian shook his head but  was spared from comment by another crack of halberd butts on stone.

“Begin,” Emmaline-who-judges declared, adjusting her mitre on her head and shooting a disgusted look at the prisoner.


Emmaline-who-disciplines stalked onto the floor and began reading out a list of charges against the mercenary. They ranged in severity from betraying the Emperor of Mankind  to getting blood on her favorite dress.


“What happens now,” Hadrian asked, his eyes flicking sideways to where an Emmaline in a psykers robe was flipping steadily through a large leather bound book. It had been hung with purity seals and inquisitorial interdicts, the ink on its pages flickering and twisting wiildly.


“Hadrian Drakos, Emmaline-with-false-modesty come forward, Throne of Terra I can’t believe he picked you,” Emmaline-who-judges said disgustedly. The two of them moved forward to stand before the prisoner. A great stone seal had been wrought into the floor, a combination of an Imperial Aquilla, an Inquisitorial Electoo, and the letters H and E intertwined. There was a soft murmur from the assembled Emmaline, as though each one of them was whispering a chant under their breath.
“Ask your questions, the accused will answer them,” Emmaline-who-judges declared.
“I’m not going to say a damned thing to any of you crazy blondes!” the merc screamed, a moment later a gag appeared over his mouth forcing his jaw shut.


“Very well…” Hadrian began “What is your name? The merc screamed into his gag and tried to turn his eyes away from the Inquisitor but try as he might he couldn’t quite break eyecontact. There was a stomach churning lurch and we tumbled into his eyes as though we were plunging into a deep pool of water.


“...Demik Veb,” the mercenary replied, reaching out to shake Hadrian’s hand. The air around us was thick with moisture and the caws of tropical birds was all around us. We were on a  trail surrounded by lush jungle. Though recognisable as the prisoner Demik looked younger, less hard bitten, the way the mind liked to picture itself. He reached out and took my hand.

“Wow , I bet your clan got a hell of a bloodprice for you,” he said to me. I shook his hand and smiled.


“Oh you know, it wasn’t that much,” I replied demurely. Something, maybe a big cat screamed off in the distance and Demick tensed. He was dressed in green and brown camo cloth and carried a las rifle with a bulky underslung grenade launcher. I was dressed in my conservative suit, it wasn’t too fancy but I guess it looked ok, despite being completely inadequate for the jungle conditions that surrounded us. Giant trees with no lower limbs rose up trailing beards of wrist thick vines with colorful sucker like flowers that seemed to slowly reach and grasp for each other. Spikey looking fungus projected up from the ground like tank traps, bristling with thorn like projections.


“We better make the compound before nightfall, or the flesh rippers will take us for sure,” Demick said, moving on down the trail as though lead scout for our little band
“What is happening, he dosen’t recognise us?” Hadrian asked in a quiet voice.
“This is before we met him,” I explained, “We will be able to see pivotal moments, and he should interpret us as friends or comrades. We can ask questions, it might make him jump to those memories though, at least that is what Emmaline-who…. Well that is what I understand,” I concluded, following Hadrian as he set off after Demick.


“He mentioned fleshrippers, are we in any danger here?” Hadrian asked. I put my hands on my hips.


“You picked the wrong Emmaline if you wanted explanations, though of course I will do what ever I can to help, no matter how small.”